The Truth Shall Set You Free
by SalixMendax
Summary: High above Victorian London, the Doctor turns away and hides. Madam Vastra seeks truth from those who try to pass her test and eats anyone who lies. Of course, then there's the man with the blue coat and sad eyes. He's had a lot of practice knocking sense into people, especially the Doctor. Now, if only he can get passed the Silurian armed with Victorian niceties...


**AN: I think this is one of my favourite scenes in DW. I wanted to see what it would be like with one of my favourite characters instead of Clara (not that I don't love Clara). ****It's not the first fanfic I've written, and it definitely won't be the last. I've been a long time reader of this site, but this is the first story I've manage to publish since my old laptop wouldn't let me. Expect more to come, though not necessarily for DW/Torchwood. Also, mention if something doesn't make sense or something. I'm not used to writing for an audience. For now sit back, relax and enjoy...**

The Truth Shall Set You Free

Of all the things he'd seen in his long life time, a butler-Sontaran was not something he could say with absolute certainty he'd encountered before. It also wasn't the weirdest thing he'd ever seen which said quite a lot about that long life of his.

"Do not try and escape or you will be obliterated," the Sontaran said in that blunt, scornful but somehow polite tone only a warrior race could manage, "May I take your coat?"

The visitor shook his head, coiling the navy blue greatcoat, beautiful in its anachronism, closer around his body. It might be bad manners, but his coat was priceless; there wouldn't be another made for at least a century.

A woman in a maid's outfit with a fighter's bearing escorted the visitor through the typical gaudiness of a Victorian mansion to a steaming conservatory. Otherworldly plants coiled and shivered in the tense humidity and, like a grieving queen, a tall woman in a heavy, black dress, her face concealed behind a sheer veil, sat sipping a dark liquid from a crystal flute.

"Sit," the not-maid said, gesturing to the seat opposite the veiled woman. The visitor gingerly lowered himself into the chair and arranged his coat around his shoulders. Gloved fingers tightened around the glass as the two women exchanged a silent glance over the man's head. In a smooth, careful movement, the woman lifted her veil to reveal a scaly face and reptilian features.

"There are two refreshments in your world the colour of red wine," the Silurian said, swirling the liquid in her glass, fixing the man with an unblinking stare, "This is not red wine."

The man did not react beyond an amused quirking of his lip. That was true now, but he remembered a time when there would be far more interesting drinks on offer.

"Madam Vastra will ask you questions," the not-maid said in a broad cockney accent, hovering just out of the man's line of sight, "You will confine yourself to single word responses. One word only, do you understand?"

The visitor glanced over his shoulder at the not-maid then leaned forwards, lacing his fingers beneath his chin and peering deep into Madam Vastra's eyes.

"Why?" he asked, an unfamiliar accent speaking clearly of places and things unknown, even in that single word.

"Truth is singular," Vastra said, her throaty voice undulating as she took a sip of her drink, "Lies are words, words, words. You met the Doctor, didn't you?"

"Obviously," the visitor said, drawing out the word with the contempt he felt it deserved.

"And now you've come looking for him again," Vastra's eyes flicked to the greatcoat then to the shadows under the visitor's eyes and she asked, "Why?"

"Understanding," the visitor said, because they may not always like each other but there was always a niggling part of him that understood exactly why the Doctor was the way he was.

"Understanding of what?" Vastra asked, regarding the man imperiously.

"Loneliness," the visitor said. Bad things happened when the Doctor felt alone. He'd know; he'd cleaned up the mess more than once.

"There are many beings who feel such a thing," Madam Vastra said, her reptilian features well suited to hiding her surprise, "Why did you come to him?"

"Debt," though who owed who was hard to figure out at times. Someday, it might be nice to call it even.

"What do you owe him?" Madam Vastra asked, curiosity gleaming in her blue, lizard eyes.

"Company," the visitor said with a half-smile. Occasionally, that was all a person needed.

"Why?" Madam Vastra asked, the sharpness in her smooth voice revealing just how much the Doctor's isolation was hurting her as well. She wanted to know what he had that she didn't.

"Spoilers," the visitor said with a cheeky smile. He sighed when she didn't react. No one laughed at that joke anymore.

"Why would he want to see you?" Madam Vastra asked, her irritation at having to clarify herself impossible to decipher by anyone who was unfamiliar with Silurian features.

"Undoubtedly," the visitor said, smirking as Madam Vastra's irritation grew. It was a legitimate answer. The Doctor would want to see him because the visitor wanted to see the Doctor. They'd known each other long enough to know when the other was just playing hard to get.

"That did not answer my question," Madam Vastra said, hissing slightly, "Why would the Doctor want to see you?"

"Kindness." The only kindness he had left in a world that never stayed still long enough to cope with.

"The Doctor is not kind," Madam Vastra said as coolly as her blood. It was like she was daring him to contradict her.

"Really?" the visitor said, raising an eyebrow that would have made a snarky medic scowl. The Doctor had burned worlds when he was being kind. It was almost scarier than when he was angry.

"The Doctor does not care and he does not help others. He stands above this world and does not interfere with its inhabitants or allow them to interfere with him. He is not your friend and he will not want to see you." Madam Vastra spoke with the tone of someone who is repeating something she has heard many time and still does not appreciate being told to say it. "Please indicate you understanding of this," she added as an afterthought, probably remembering the role she was supposed to play.

A word lingered on the tip of the man's tongue, an insult born of fond exasperation, but the name slipped from his lips like a sigh. That was how the Doctor became when he lost someone he cared for, when he held on so tight to the beauty he didn't realise his hands were bloody from the thorns.

"Rose."

This, the emotion in his raspy tone, was clearly enough for Madam Vastra, even if she did not understand the significance, as she continued. "The Doctor was kind once. He was a hero saving planets and travelling the stars. Now he is afraid to let others close to him for fear of being hurt again."

"Foolish," the visitor said with a snort. There were several other things he could have called the Doctor and even more he didn't dare.

"Who is a fool?"

"Most." It was true. Most people, most of the time: it was easier to accept people made mistakes and move on than let it wind you up… mostly.

"Do you include yourself in that tally?" Madam Vastra asked curiously. The visitor rubbed the hem of his greatcoat's sleeve and shrugged. His eyes were sharp, but his thoughts were far away, somewhere far more painful than the humid, Victorian conservatory.

"Sometimes."

"And the Doctor, do you consider him a fool?" Madame Vastra asked, drink abandoned on the side table in her curiosity.

"Naturally." He'd thought that was what they'd been discussing. He was rewarded by a flicker of a smile on the Silurian's thin lips.

"We are the Doctor's friends," Madam Vastra said, lacing her scaly fingers, "We assist him in his isolation but that does not mean we approve of it. So, a test for you, give me a message for the Doctor, explain what you will gain from this meeting, why you feel it is so important you should see him and above all why the Doctor should see you, but do it in one word." She smiled, but it was not a particularly nice smile, and her forked tongue darted across her lips.

"You're thinking that no such word exists nor that you could even find it," she guessed, seeing the visitor's forehead wrinkle in consideration, "Let's see if the gods are with you."

The visitor didn't hesitate. "Choices," he proclaimed. It was his choice to come, the Doctor's choice to see him, and a thousand choices would be made available from their encounter, just like with any other. In one word, the visitor was implying he had taken great pains to come here (which he had), the Doctor would be a great coward to ignore him (which he would be) and that their discussion could potentially be about anything from death to donuts (unlikely as they had exhausted these topics in previous meetings). It was just as likely that they wouldn't talk at all and he was quite alright with that.

A pained expression crossed Madam Vastra's face. Clearly she didn't think that was the word the Doctor needed to hear. "If the Doctor asks, who do I say wants to speak with him?" she asked.

The visitor thought for a moment, over two millennia worth of names and faces passing before his eyes. "Lazarus," he said finally. It had been too long since he'd used the name the Doctor knew him by, but the Doctor had always claimed he was a genius. He'd work it out.

It was clear though that Madam Vastra didn't know the significance of his pseudonym and, with the current popularity of biblical names, it didn't even garner a blink from the not-maid. It was time to take his leave.

Lazarus got to his feet and hissed a single word in Silurian, both a goodbye and well wishes for future endeavours, then strode from the house, leaving the Great Detective gaping in her chair. His navy blue greatcoat billowed behind him and a coy smile tugged his lips. If he were still a betting man, he'd give it less than a day before the Doctor came looking for him. The immortal could barely wait.

In console room of the TARDIS, the Doctor heard the details of the conversation from a ruffled Madam Vastra. He stopped reading his book when he heard her description of the visitor. He sighed when he heard Lazarus' final answer and winced when he heard the name he'd chosen.

Getting to his feet, the Doctor looked around the dark console room and turned on the lights with a snap of his fingers.

"Why did it have to be Jack Bloody Harkness?" the Doctor asked the empty room pathetically. Sighing again, this time more for dramatic effect than anything, the Doctor swung on his coat, donned his top hat and strode out into the snow. He had a Captain to find.

Behind him the TARDIS hummed and her lights flickered. You might have almost thought she was laughing.


End file.
